


A Study in Dwarven Endurance

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [23]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, F/M, Feels, M/M, plotty plot plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:35:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is a most noble Dwarf of the Line of Durin. Whatever comes his way, he will endure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Dwarven Endurance

Thorin watched, alone, from his spot atop the partially ruined battlements, as the sight of his One faded into the western horizon. 

He'd done it. Bilbo had gone, his little pony following Gandalf's horse as they wound down the road toward Dale and disappeared. Thorin didn't move, even after all sight of them had passed. He couldn't seem to get his feet to shift, some wild, hopeful part of him thinking that if he just stayed here, then he could pretend that Bilbo was simply spending the day in Dale, that he was saying a farewell to Gandalf. That he would be back. 

After all that had happened, everything they endured, Thorin would have given it all up, anything so that he wouldn't have to live with the loss. 

He and Bilbo had made love for hours the night before...not the rough fucking of the previous morning, but the slower, deeper, more intimate coupling that had wrung Thorin's breaking heart out completely, leaving it a withered husk within his chest. Despite the pain, Thorin would hold to that memory, to the way Bilbo had felt against him, skin to skin, the way he responded eagerly and wantonly to every touch of Thorin's hands and mouth. 

When they were finished, at last, Bilbo had slipped into a deep sleep, leaving Thorin awake, restless and emotionally wound up, wondering what he could possibly say that would convince Bilbo to stay with him. He looked back on that night and shook his head, frustrated with himself for his foolishness.

You couldn't talk someone into loving you. They either did or they didn't. Thorin did. Bilbo didn't. 

In the end he had done nothing, simply passing the hours watching, holding Bilbo close, smelling the hair on his head and the skin of his neck, memorizing every line on his face and each tiny imperfection. He'd let the bitter tears slip down his face and disappear into the pillow as he kept the watch, the longest watch of his life. 

And yet, for all his heartache, Thorin couldn't help but believe that it was right. After what he'd done to Bilbo that day, the Arkenstone calling to him as the gold subdued his will, the need and jealous, possessive want coursing through his veins...after all that, it was only right. 

He didn't deserve for Bilbo to love him. He knew well why Bilbo was his One, he was the perfect foil for Thorin's weaknesses, he was flexible but strong and more courageous than any other by half. And now, Thorin knew why Bilbo didn't love him back, why he'd had to leave. It was penance, Thorin's payment for the greatest wrong he had ever committed. Thorin was humbled by the plan of Mahal in relation to his life. He had been gifted the greatest, most precious gift a Dwarf could wish for, and he had not deserved it. 

Never having loved wasn't enough for Thorin. Not enough suffering. Loving completely and having his One beside him for so many months, being able to touch him and kiss him and revel in his presence only to lose him in a moment, to watch helplessly as his heart tore out of his chest and fled, that was proper payment, enough suffering for his sins. Living that broken reality for the rest of his life might just come close to paying his debt.

“I wondered if I'd find you here,” Balin said, appearing from the shadows behind him. Thorin merely grunted, eyes still on the road where he'd last seen Bilbo, the sun glinting off his unruly hair, turning it to gold. It was the only gold that Thorin had craved since he'd been awoken from the madness. 

“You weren't there to say goodbye.” Balin stood beside him, leaning against the wall and casting his gaze down over the work proceeding below them. 

“We'd already said our goodbyes,” Thorin told him, his chest aching anew as he remembered Bilbo's subdued but determined face. He remembered the way he had reached out, cupping Thorin's cheeks and kissing him for the last time, achingly sweet and heartbreaking in its finality. 

“As he said.”

“I couldn't be there, Balin,” Thorin admitted, his eyes dropping at last as he laid his head on the stone. “I couldn't stand there, so close, and do nothing as he turned and left me.”

“I'm sorry, Thorin,” Balin said, gripping Thorin's shoulder and squeezing firmly. “I wish it didn't have to come to this.”

“I want you to know...I'm sorry also. For being such an ass to you when you entreated me to have caution. You were right, Balin. But it was too late by then, and I can't change it now. It was my heart that was on the line, and it is my heart that is lost now.”

“I wish I hadn't been right about it, either.”

Thorin sighed, lifting his head and facing Balin head on, his eyes itching. “It's rather funny, in a way. The great Dwarven King of Erebor, triumphant at Azanulbizar, protector of the clan of Durin in exile, leader of the Company that retook The Lonely Mountain with but fourteen souls, brought low by a gentlehobbit from the Shire.” He listed his accomplishments with a healthy dose of scorn, as if they meant next to nothing. He knew his deeds were not worthless, but for all that they availed him now, they might as well be. 

“Well, when you put it that way,” Balin said, his eyes twinkling with humour, yet still conveying a gentle sympathy. Balin was an exceptionally complex Dwarf, and Thorin was grateful for his friendship and devotion.

“But you are still King, and there are things to be done. I think the stone masons want to get up here and get to work chiseling this slab flat, in preparation for the new gates. Should I tell them to find another task?”

“No, it's fine. Thank you Balin.” Thorin turned, sending one more longing look out over the road, praying that Mahal would grant Bilbo a safe and speedy journey. “Let's get to work.”

 

* * *

 

There was plenty of work to be done. Before long they had the gates up again, which not only increased the security of the mountain greatly, but did wonders to keep it warm, keeping the heat that was produced in the mountain, in the mountain. 

Dain returned to the Iron Hills not long after Bilbo left with Gandalf, promising to send more workers, more supplies, and more food, all of which eased Thorin's mind a great deal. It had become very apparent that Dale was in no way able to shelter its new citizens over the winter, and with most of the mountain being declared sound, the Men had moved in. 

Only the great treasure halls were strictly off limits. Although Gloin and his crew had managed to remove, count and store a vast portion of the gold and treasures within, several pillars had been damaged by Smaug, or destroyed entirely, and if there was going to be a collapse in the aftermath of the dragon, it would happen there. 

Thorin avoided it when he could, but found that, when he did need to enter the treasury or pass by it, he wasn't moved at all by the glint of gold in the lamplight. When he looked on it, all he could think was what he had lost in the gaining of it. It was too much to be borne, so he could never stay for long. He wanted it gone, as much as was feasible, he wanted it spent securing a proper future for his people. 

Work on the forges was proceeding apace. They had manged to light the first forge, and teams were working hard on the second and third, both of which would be lit before the fourth and fifth, the ones Smaug had lit, were extinguished. With a whole city of men and a fair number of Dwarves in the mountain, they would need the heat, as well as the water that was warmed and sent throughout. Fortunately, the damage to the plumbing consisted mainly of age and disuse, and was quickly remedied. 

The same could be said for the living quarters...when the Men had moved in, they had set to work immediately clearing and cleaning. Many among them had began making furniture, the Men more skilled in the working of wood than the Dwarves, and apartments throughout the mountain were being replenished with furniture. Thorin felt like they had really accomplished something. 

The Men and Dwarves worked side by side, at a pace that was dizzying to Thorin although he drove it with great enthusiasm. The mountain would be functional and livable, if not completely restored, before spring arrived, which would doubtless bring with it an influx of workers. Thorin had made a bargain with Bard, that the Dwarves of Erebor would focus their great efforts on the rebuilding of Dale, once the weather allowed. Not only did they owe much to the Men who were to live there, but it would allow those Men a chance to focus their efforts on the fields and formerly fertile river vale. It would be fertile again, Thorin was determined, as soon as possible. 

The truth was, his driving purpose in life had become the proper restoration of both kingdoms. He was scarcely less passionate about the rebuilding of Dale than he was about the work proceeding in Erebor. So much so, that Bard remarked on it one morning just before Midwinter's Day, when new supplies had arrived from Dain, and with them, more workers. 

“Honestly?” Thorin had asked, brooding into his tea and wishing it was an ale. According to Balin, it was not appropriate for the King to drink ale with his morning meal, though Thorin thought differently. He was the King after all, and that meant he could do what he liked. He scoffed to himself. If only that were true.

“I remember well the beauty of Dale in its peak. It was a happy place, and prosperous, and I would have it reach such heights again. We work together, Dale and Erebor, or not at all. If one of us fails, then so will the other.”

“So your determination to rebuild Dale is a selfish one, in the end,” Bard commented, giving his friend a mischievous look. 

“Aye, it is,” Thorin admitted. “With the added bonus that the sooner it is done, the sooner I can throw you from my mountain.”

Bard laughed heartily, and even Thorin's face cracked a grin. He had been surprised to find that Bard was a warm, intelligent, and gracious man, and that he also had a dry sense of humour that kept Thorin on his toes. It was a fine friendship they were developing, and Thorin valued it greatly. 

Bard finished his tea, gave Thorin a hefty slap on the back and strode off, no doubt to tend to his people, or to take a trip to Dale for the as of yet continuing surveys, until such time as the weather made travel unwise. 

When he was gone, Thorin bowed his head onto the table, grateful that they had cleared and reappointed the royal chambers early on so that his grief would not be so evident to all. That it was obvious to the Company was burden enough to bear.

He was tired. The work was proceeding quickly, but it was also incredibly demanding, and although Balin had urged him repeatedly to delegate more of his duties, Thorin had refused. 

He needed to be tired. He pushed himself every day to work harder, to accomplish more, until he was so exhausted that he was able to fall into his empty bed and pretend that the space beside him did not tear a new hole in his heart every night. Then he would wake up and do it again, until he was on the verge of collapse. 

He was not handling it very well. Oh, his work never suffered, and it would not. Work was the only thing he could retreat to, and when there was no immediate work, he found himself dragging Dwalin or Nori or Bifur, anyone who could be found, really, to the practice yard in one of the lower halls, pushing them to spar with him until he could barely lift his sword. And then he would go to his office chamber and work some more, until his eyes were blurry and he could barely drag himself to bed. 

He often didn't make it, falling asleep in his office chair on a regular basis, slumped over his work, or dragging himself only as far as the refurbished couch in the sitting room, to sleep beside the fire. Fili and Kili had become well accustomed to finding him there and had thankfully stopped needling him about it. 

He was driven, like a wild thing, single minded in his desire to make the most of every day, of every hour. Because when he didn't...when he didn't have something to occupy his mind or his body, when he let his eyes close in peace and quiet of a still room, then he couldn't stop it. 

He couldn't stop the memories. The visions.

He saw Bilbo whenever his eyes slid shut, whenever he wasn't actively focusing on something else. He saw Bilbo, smiling at him in the way he did, the corners of his eyes creasing, or laughing, the sleek, smooth lines of his neck tempting Thorin to lay his teeth there, to suck fragrant blood to the skin, a claim for all to see. He saw Bilbo with a scowl on his face, annoyed at Thorin and about to launch into another epic rant that always left Thorin feeling equal parts chastened and enchanted. 

He envisioned Bilbo in the library, waist deep in books and manuscripts, chattering with Ori about some obscure translation, or in the common mess with various members of the Company, maybe the lads, or Bofur or Balin, engaging them all with his flair for story telling, humble and charismatic all at once. He could picture Bilbo in the big, comfortable armchair that sat beside the fire, a book in his lap and a cup of tea on the table next to him, perhaps a half eaten plate of biscuits within easy reach. Hobbits did like their food, after all. And Bilbo would want to add to the meal schedule at Erebor, to get his seven square meals a day, as he called them. 

The worst though, the worst vision of all was of a more visceral nature, it was a muscle memory that plagued him. The feeling of Bilbo in his arms when he drifted off, naked and snuffling as he dreamed. The weight and warmth of him tantalized Thorin in those moments when he was still asleep but awakening. Sometimes he would wake from dreams of messy curls and hairless skin and a voice that managed to be soft and demanding at the same time, and he could taste Bilbo on his tongue, could feel small fingers pressing into his hair to tug him down for another kiss.

Thorin's head snapped up with a start. He blinked in the empty room, chasing away memories and hopeless daydreams. He felt heavy, burdened with the sheer force of the loss that was tearing him apart. It was times like that when he retreated to the ramparts, to stand in the spot he'd stood on that morning when Bilbo had clambered onto his pony and turned away from the mountain, away from Thorin. He could see again how the sun tossed curls had faded into the distance, and although the memory tore at him, it was the closest he could get to Bilbo, now that he was gone. 

Thorin stood, leaving his mostly uneaten breakfast behind him, shaking the cobwebs of what might have been out of his head, and left the room. 

He had work to do. 

 

* * *

 

The pseudo balance that Thorin had reached took a hit several weeks later, when Kili approached him, solemnly, slipping into the chair across from Thorin's desk quietly. That alone had him lifting his head, staring at his nephew in shock and confusion. Kili never did anything quietly. 

“Kili?” he said, brows furrowed as his nephew sat still, his eyes downcast, biting his lip. 

“Uncle,” he replied, coughing to clear his throat before looking up at Thorin, his gaze hopeful and apprehensive at the same time. 

“All right, what is it?” Thorin asked, putting his quill down and giving Kili his full attention. 

“I, uh...I wanted to ask for your blessing,” Kili began, his face taking on a more determined look. “As the head of our household, I am officially informing you of my intention to begin courting.”

“Courting?” Thorin's heart clenched just a little, though he was not fool enough to believe that this had not been coming for a while. Since the day they met the Elves in Mirkwood, to be exact, although he hadn't known it at the time. “You are speaking of Tauriel, of course.”

“Yes,” Kili said, his face changing in an instant, as if he'd just remembered who he was doing this for. Thorin understood. He would move the mountain for Bilbo, if given the chance. “She has already agreed, and as she has no family, she is free to make her own choice.”

“It may be wise to speak to Thranduil however, before you make things official.”

“He can't stop her,” Kili began, but Thorin stopped his protest with a look. 

“Indeed, he can't especially as she intends to live with you. She will become a subject of Erebor, not of Mirkwood. However, such courtesies will go a long way in keeping the peace between our kingdoms. It would be different if you were not a Prince of Durin.”

“I know I am, Uncle, and I know that few will look on our union with pleasure, but...I just can't bring myself to care. I love her. I love her and I want to marry her, and by the grace of Mahal, she loves me too, though I still can't fathom why.”

Thorin sighed, happiness for Kili's happiness and sorrow for the rocky road ahead for him, mingled in Thorin's heart, along with a hefty dose of hurt when he thought about his desire to court Bilbo. He'd made a start of it, really, with the mithril shirt, but he wasn't even sure it counted, since he hadn't informed Bilbo of the meaning behind it, and his One had left not long after accepting. 

“I do not understand it either. She is clearly in possession of immense patience along with a hefty dose of foolhardiness, to take on a reckless, incorrigible Dwarf like yourself.”

“Yes, clearly,” Kili said, though his face had softened and his eyes had taken on a glassy, far away look that Thorin knew well. “Does this mean you're okay with it? I mean, do we have your blessing?”

“I know you better than any other, Kili, save perhaps my sister and your brother. I know that, if I refused, I would lose you, as you would follow her into Mordor itself, if need be.” He looked Kili right in the eye, and tried to be happy for him, without reservation. It was not a simple task. 

“I also know that Mahal can work in ways that may seem strange and impossible to us. My own heart has also been given to one not of the Khazad, so I know something of what you are feeling. I could no more deny you this than I could deny my One. I would caution you, however, to be discreet in public, at least until everyone gets used to the idea. But you will always have my support.”

“Uncle,” Kili said, grinning brighter than the sun, dashing around the desk to crack his head against Thorin's. “I cannot thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by telling me just what is going on with your brother.”

Kili froze, halfway to the door, turning to look at Thorin with a stricken face, that he quickly tried to hide but looking far too cheerful. “Nothing's going on with Fili,” he said, smile pasted on.

“Kili,” Thorin said, giving his nephew a look that he hoped resembled the one he'd seen Dis give her sons on many occasions. 

“He...I,” Kili shut his mouth and took a deep breath. “It's not mine to tell, Uncle. I'm sorry, but Fili has his reasons, and I'm sure he'll be telling you before long. Please, don't make me tell you.”

Thorin sighed a long suffering sigh, shaking his head at his life before nodding his agreement. 

“Fine, I won't push it,” he told Kili. “But something is up, and I want to know. Soon. Tell him.”

“I'll let him know.” Kili nodded eagerly, then dashed out of the room, leaving Thorin alone once more, wondering how he could feel both blessed and cursed in his family. 

Fili had been very shifty lately, and Thorin had begun to suspect that there was something going on between him and Bard's eldest daughter. Fili was not as sneaky as perhaps he thought, and Thorin could not help but notice an almost permanent smile on his face, one that spoke volumes about the nature of his secret. 

Also, whenever Bard and his family joined them for dinner, which was at least once a week, Fili and Sigrid avoided each other. So much so that Thorin began to work it out. 

Once again, a son of Durin had lost his heart to an outsider. He leaned back in his chair and pondered this latest development. He could hardly deny Fili's heart, not with Kili courting an Elf and Thorin himself heart bound to his Hobbit. And yet, Fili's love was going to be just as hard to handle as Kili's...Dwarves were not nearly as suspicious and mistrusting of Men, but Fili was the heir to Erebor. It was he who would wear the crown when Thorin went back to the stone. 

It was not going to be easy or simple, but Thorin had learned a great many things during the Quest for Erebor, and he would not go back on those lessons for anyone. Family comes first. Love sometimes grows in unexpected ways. Strength comes in all shapes and sizes.

And sometimes, the person you least expect will come along and change your life. 

 

* * *

 

Midwinter's Day came shortly after his conversation with Kili, and it involved a lot of celebrating that Thorin, quite frankly, was not in the mood for. He was proud in their accomplishments in retaking the mountain, and in restoring it. Also in the restoring of relations with their neighbours. He was gratified by the praise the Company had received and he was looking forward to what the next year would bring for his people.

But he was not happy. At times he tried to pretend that he was, or at least that he wasn't drowning in his sorrow, but as of yet, he hadn't been all that successful. People were starting to notice, and not just his inner circle, either. 

“You look like you're expecting another dragon,” Balin said, not unkindly, as he took a seat beside Thorin. He had tucked himself into a corner of the Great Hall with his pipe, hoping that he could pass the evening without too many people noticing him. He had seriously been considering slipping away and heading to his office, certain that he could find something to occupy his tortured mind, to get it off hopeless thoughts of what could have been. Thoughts of what used to be and wouldn't again.

“Hmph,” he grunted, taking a pull from his pipe and closing his eyes as the sweet tasting smoke soothed his raw nerves. He had never been a terribly outgoing Dwarf, these kinds of events were not his preference, but unfortunately they were a necessity.

“I know I've mentioned it before, but people are beginning to wonder why, when the kingdom is restored and the future is looking bright, the King looks as if his worst nightmare has come to pass.”

“I look that way because it has.”

“I know it well. But they don't.” Balin regarded him carefully, and then turned his attention back to his own pipe. “I know you're struggling, but it's my job to keep you abreast of the mood of the mountain. And the mood is...confused.”

“Perhaps you should start a rumour that the King has lost his One and is in mourning.”

“You are not funny,” Balin said, though the smirk on his face said otherwise. Balin had always been one to appreciate his dark humour. “Besides, that would just open up a whole other area of speculation.”

“Then what would you have me do, Balin?” Thorin asked, tapping his pipe out, perhaps more harshly than he should. “I am not adept at hiding my feelings. I cannot pretend that everything is perfect and blessed when for me, every minute of every day is a bleak, unending torture that I only endure because I have no other choice.”

“I'm not sure what is to be done, if you want the truth,” Balin admitted. “But I wanted to let you know, your subjects are worried. They are intensely proud of their King and their mountain, and in their eyes, harm to one is harm to the other.”

“And yet, the mountain will get along just fine without...” Thorin trailed off. He could not bring himself to speak Bilbo's name, not here. Not now. He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut on the burn that pricked them. “And I never will,” he finished, quietly. “I can't pretend otherwise, Balin. But I will do my best to try harder. In public at least.”

“And while you're at it, perhaps you will take a little more time to yourself? You'll work yourself to death, at this rate.”

“I...this is what I need to do. Every time I have a minute to myself, I think of him. Whenever I close my eyes, he's there. The only way I can bear it is if I keep occupied, keep busy, keep moving. I will lose my mind if I have to slow down, Balin.”

“I'm sorry, Thorin. I wish there was something more I could do to help.”

Thorin sighed, meeting his friend's eyes, seeing a reflection of his sorrow in them. “Unless you can bring him back to me...” Thorin said, trailing off. He shook his head. “There is nothing anyone can do, Balin. Only one person can help me now, and he's not here.”

He stood, tucking his pipe in his coat, nodding sadly at his oldest friend. “I'll be in my office if I'm needed.” Balin nodded, nodding back. 

Thorin slipped out of the hall as quickly as he could, nodding a greeting to those he passed. The celebration was too much. It was too cheerful for him. From Kili and Tauriel's palpable glee to Fili's quiet contentment, to the joy and excitement spread across faces of Men and Dwarves, from one side of the room to the other, he could not bear it. Because when he saw them looking like that, when he saw his people and his neighbours looking so happy and content, he could so easily picture Bilbo among them, smiling his beautiful, bright smile, his eyes dancing with mirth, toasting his friends and telling tales in his expressive manner. He could imagine catching Bilbo's eyes across the room and watching his joy changing, heating with desire and invitation. 

That line of thought never ended well for Thorin. He was better off cutting it out before it took root. Besides, he had work to do. 

 

* * *

 

Less than a week later, Bard had joined him in his office, to discuss the last survey they'd done in Dale, before the snow really set in, and how it affected their plans for rebuilding, once the weather turned. They had months of such discussions ahead of them, but Thorin welcomed the visit. He and Bard had become surprisingly good friends by that point, and he was less likely to fall into his own thoughts when there was someone else around to keep him focused. 

There was a lull in the conversation, and Thorin used it as a way of segueing to what had been on his mind for a few weeks. His suspicions about Fili's affections had only been strengthened, though he had yet to have them confirmed. 

“So, when do you think my eldest nephew will be asking your daughter to marry him?” he said casually, eyes still on the paper in front of him as he made a few notes. There was no response but silence, so he looked up, surprised by Bard's look of surprise. 

“Wait...what?” Bard said, his eyes wide, but as he watched, Thorin could see the light come on in his head, the realisation kicking in. Surely Bard had seen what Thorin had seen, although apparently he hadn't put two and two together. 

“Oh,” he said at last, shaking his head in wonder. “I've been so busy lately, I've hardly had a chance to pay attention to my own children. That will have to change, now.”

“Well, there's only so much for us to do, now that the weather has us pinned, so perhaps it's a good time to have a conversation with Sigrid.”

“I don't believe it. Why hasn't she said anything to me?” Bard leaned forward on the desk, dragging his hands through his hair. 

“Probably for the same reason Fili hasn't told me,” Thorin said, smirking at his clueless friend. 

“How long has this been going on?” Bard asked, incredulously. “Since we moved into the mountain?”

“Since we climbed out of your toilet, I think. And then you took them in while Kili was sick.”

“That long?”

“I believe so. When Fili woke after the battle, he had a short conversation with Tauriel that clearly meant more than they were saying out loud. I'd forgotten about it, but thinking back now, I'm certain that they were talking about Sigrid.”

“Tauriel spends a lot of time with Sigrid. And Tilda and Bain, of course.”

“And she was also in Laketown after we'd left for the mountain.” Everything was coming together in Thorin's mind. 

“She saved my family,” Bard said soberly.

“And mine,” Thorin agreed. “Which is why I wouldn't dare to come between her and Kili. Nor will I if Fili is indeed courting Sigrid, which I believe he is.”

“I can't believe it.” Bard was shaking his head, eyes wide.

“Do you have a problem with them wanting to be together?” Thorin asked, wondering suddenly, if despite their friendship and cooperation, the thought of his daughter marrying a Dwarf was a step too far.

“No, I...” Bard smiled suddenly. “No, Fili is a lovely young man...uh, Dwarf. I like him, and I respect him a lot. He's been working very hard to help bring us all together. He has a feel for the people, and how to talk to them. His manner is genuine and sincere in a way that can't be faked. He'll make a fine King one day, Thorin. You should be proud.”

“I am. Very much. And yes, he seems particularly interested in cordial relations between the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor.” Thorin said wryly. “He's rather passionate about it, in fact. I believe that his passion stems from a purpose completely aside from the relationship between Dale and his future kingdom.”

“I believe you're right.” Bard sat back, as if exhausted. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“Honestly, I think we should leave it alone. They'll tell us when they're ready.”

“Fine, but I'll still be keeping a closer eye on Sigrid, that much is certain.”

Thorin couldn't help but chuckle at that. Yes, having Bard around was most diverting indeed.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, pulling a bottle of spirits from his desk drawer. “I keep a little something here for just such an emergency.”

“I think I'd better,” Bard said with a laugh. 

 

* * *

 

When Fili finally approached him, it was several weeks into January, and Thorin was reading over yet another series of mine reports, not in his office, but on the couch in their sitting room. Despite their conversation on Midwinter's Day, Balin had not let up on him, still pushing him to get more rest, to take more down time. Thorin had tried, for two whole days, but they had been the most miserable, painful days of his life. He hurt all the time, really, but it was worse when he had time to think about it. Time to dwell.

So he had started taking his work home, as it were. The boys rarely ate in their suite and Thorin usually ate in his office, so their dinning table had become the receptacle of a good portion of maps, surveys, trade agreements and supply reports. He knew he was living on borrowed time, and Balin was sure to figure him out soon. If he could make it last long enough, Dis would no doubt put a stop to it when she arrived. 

But for now, it was working. 

“Uncle, do you have a minute?” Fili asked, prompting Thorin to look up. The look on Fili's face informed him that the time had finally come, he was finally going to tell Thorin that he was courting Sigrid. Thorin had been waiting impatiently, ever since his conversation with Bard. Who, it turned out, had pulled back the reins on Sigrid's freedom, much to her chagrin. And Fili's. Thorin knew the restriction would force, or rather, encourage, Fili's hand, and sure enough, just over a week later, he was approaching Thorin with the same sick and excited expression that Kili had worn when he'd asked to court Tauriel.

“I always have time for you, Fili,” Thorin said warmly, trying to decide how to react. Or, if he should surprise Fili with his preexisting knowledge. 

“Good, that's...good,” Fili said, fidgeting nervously, but not taking a seat. 

“Is this about your upcoming wedding to Bard's oldest daughter?” Well, apparently he had decided to go with the latter. Fili's look of shock was worth it. Thorin chuckled, leaning forward and shaking his head at his gobsmacked nephew. 

“You know?” Fili asked, slumping in the armchair across from him. “Did Kili tell you?”

“Yes, I know, and no, Kili did not tell me, although I tried to make him. Your brother kept your secret much better than your own face.”

“Oh,” Fili said, shaking his head. “I thought we were being discreet. Well, discreet enough.”

“You were not obvious, but I haven't made it to where I am by being unobservant, especially when it involves my kin.”

“How long have you known?”

Thorin sighed, leaning back himself. “I knew you were keeping something from me when you woke after the battle, but I was...distracted for a while after that and saw nothing but my own troubles. My suspicions grew over time, and soon I realised exactly what was going on. What I want to know is, why did you wait so long to tell me?”

“We, I...I didn't want to,” Fili began, uncertainty all over his face. “I wasn't sure how to ask considering everything that happened. And Kili got to you first, so...”

“Fili, you don't ever have to hold back from me. I have been...struggling, it's true. And yes, the sight and knowledge of your and Kili's joy causes some...well, it brings up feelings that I haven't been able to push aside, even after all this time. But that is not your problem. It's mine. Understand?”

Fili nodded, relieved, and Thorin took a deep, cleansing breath. He knew why both of them had been nervous. He knew they hadn't wanted to rub his nose in their successful love lives, but the fact is, he was going to have to get used to it. He had another century in him, if not longer. It was likely he would see the next generation paired off and married as well. It was not something he could avoid, not for long. 

“Yes,” Fili assured him. “I understand. And...I'm sorry, Uncle. I wish things would have ended up differently. We all miss Bilbo, too, though I know it's not the same.”

And that did it...just hearing his name spoken aloud made the blood freeze in Thorin's veins. He had avoided it since Bilbo had left, because he knew how hard it would be to hear. He was right. It was hard enough when the memories and vision assailed him, but hearing his name twisted a fresh wound into Thorin's heart.

“Yes, well...” he managed, tilting his head back and looking at the ceiling, trying to pull himself together. “Thank you, Fili.”

“Now,” he said, sitting forward again, and facing his nephew seriously. “How long ago did you start the courtship?”

“I...a few months ago. We've already exchanged gifts, and I know it's irregular, but we don't want to wait for the endless span of time it usually takes. We don't want to wait at all, but she's still too young...she comes of age in April, so we were hoping we could be wed on her birthday.” Fili leaned forward, his face clearly showing his eagerness to move things along.

“That's soon. Maybe too soon.” Thorin's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I know when you're young everything seems immediate, but..”

“It's not that,” Fili insisted, interrupting. “Well, not only that. The fact is, Sigrid is of the race of Men, and you know as well as I that their lives burn out so much quicker than ours. I've thought about it a lot, and I know it'll tear me apart when she dies...if we're lucky we'll get a mere sixty or seventy years..”

“You'll barely be middle age by then, Fili,” Thorin pointed out. 

“I'm aware. And I've factored that in, but the plain truth is that I love her. It just...it just happened, and before I'd known what my heart had done it was too late. It's too late for me, Uncle. I can’t change it now, and I wouldn't if I could.”

“I know the feeling. But it's trickier with you, because you are the heir, and everyone is going to want to see your courtship and feel a part of it. It'll be harder because she's human, and harder still because Kili is marrying an Elf.”

“I know. I'm sorry, Uncle, I...”

“No, don't apologize. I'll tell you what I told Kili, that I understand well that sometimes love takes you by surprise, and you can't predict where it will lead you. I know that better than most, I think.” Thorin took another calming breath...this conversation was getting harder as it went. 

“Yes, you do,” Fili said with a weak smile. 

“I will not deny you this, Fili. I wouldn't dare. However, I must insist that you wait to get married. April is too soon, it would be too much to ask. And there is another consideration that, I admit, has more weight than any other.”

Fili waited patiently for Thorin to elaborate, and Thorin was surprised he hadn't thought of it. They had been gone so long, perhaps he had become accustomed to answering only to Thorin. 

“The fact is, if I let you get married before your mother arrives, she'll have me killed. After torturing me painfully.”

“Oh, right,” Fili said, shaking his head. “She would kill me, too. And it's far too soon to make Sigrid a widow.”

“Indeed. You will formally begin courtship, though we will let it be known that your first gifts were already given, and we will fix on a date after your mother arrives and has had her say. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Fili's smile was infectious, it always had been. Thorin found himself smiling back. No matter how awful he felt, his nephews would always bring a lightness to his heart.

“When is the earliest we can expect her, do you think?” Fili asked, his enthusiasm showing.

“Late May, early June, perhaps. It depends on how swift the raven was, and how soon the caravan started out. I'm certain they would not wait for winter to pass before beginning, travel through Eriador is not too difficult in winter, and they would be poised to cross the Misty Mountains as soon as the weather breaks.”

He did not dwell on the fact that Dis and the others would be crossing from east to west, probably around the same time that Bilbo would be going in the other direction. Possibly they would meet, Gandalf and Bilbo would not need to guess where such a large caravan of Dwarves would be heading. 

“Excellent,” Fili said, thankfully pulling Thorin from his thoughts. “Thank you Uncle. I'll go tell Sigrid now. And we must talk to her father.”

“Oh, Bard already knows,” Thorin said, shaking his head at Fili's expression. 

“He does?”

“Yes. He's her father,” he said, purposefully leaving out the part where he had been the one to inform Bard of their clandestine courtship.

“Oh. Well, I'd better go. I have a future father in law to placate.”

“Indeed you do,” Thorin said. “And Fili? Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” he said, standing up and clasping Thorin's shoulder, resting his forehead on Thorin's affectionately, and much more gently than Kili had. “I'd better see you at dinner!” he called as he left the room. “Or I'll sick Balin on you. Or worse, Kili!”

Thorin sighed. Balin had figured out Thorin's latest strategy, and had recruited the boys to help him keep tabs on their uncle. He would need to find a new way to keep himself occupied. Perhaps he could get us very early, get in a few hours of work before breakfast, and be exhausted enough to go to bed earlier. 

The evenings were the worst.

 

* * *

 

Scarcely a week later, when the news of Fili's courtship had come out, Thorin had another conversation with Balin. The mood of the mountain was...uneasy. 

Thorin had known that this was going to happen, when it came out that both the Heirs were courting from another race. Some were all right with the idea, some were uneasy and some were not at all pleased. Thorin did his best to assure everyone that he had the greatest faith, not only in his heirs, but in their choice of wives. 

It had helped, but Thorin was determined to find something else he could do to make his subjects more accepting. He'd thought of an idea, it had crashed into his mind, quick as a flash, and he had spoken before thinking. It hadn't had the desired result, as Balin just sat back, staring at him as if he'd grown an extra head.

“I'm sorry, what was that?” Balin asked, wearing a look that reminded him of Fili's, just last week. 

“You heard me, Balin.”

“Yes, but I can't believe I heard you correctly. Say it again, so I'm certain that I've got it right.”

Thorin sighed, second guessing himself yet knowing that Balin would not let him let it go. “I thought, that if I found a good political match, perhaps it would be advisable for me to marry. I could ease the minds of my subjects and father an heir, to take the pressure off Fili and Sigrid. I'm sure he wouldn't mind being pushed back in the line of succession. He is devoted to his place, to being the best he can, but being King is not his dream.”

“I thought that's what you'd said,” Balin remarked grimly. “I still cannot believe my ears.”

“It's all I can think of Balin. It's a solid idea.”

“Yes, and if you pulled it off, you would be very successful in your objective. However, before you pursue it, let me ask you this.”

Thorin sat back, bracing himself for what Balin would say. In the end, he was surprised by the kindness in Balin's tone, although he realised that he shouldn't be. Balin was the kindest person he'd even known.

“Go on,” he said.

“Could you bear it, Thorin?” Balin asked. “Could you marry another? Make vows of faithfulness? Could you treat her fairly and make her happy?” Balin leaned closer, meeting Thorin's eyes fiercely. “Thorin...could you take her into your bed? Could you bear to touch her and make love to her? One who is all but a stranger? After having known the joys of loving your One?”

As Balin spoke, Thorin's stomach filled with lead. There was a horrible pain in his chest, and a throbbing in his head that gave him the answer before Balin had asked the last question. And when he had mentioned bed, and the thought of touching another person the way he had touched...

He couldn't even think it. He felt sick to his stomach, leaning down onto his knees and dropping his head between them. He breathed as deeply as he could, desperate for air, desperate to clear his head of the thought, disgusted in himself for opening his mouth and vocalizing it. 

He looked up at last, meeting Balin's soft eyes, despondent in his grief. 

“No,” he choked, moisture filling his eyes. “No, I could never. No, I...no one but him.” He breathed heavily, in through the nose and out through the mouth, pulling himself together, painstakingly. “I'll never touch anyone else, not as long as I live.”

“I know, lad,” Balin said. “I know.”

“Balin...please forget what I just suggested. It was clearly ravings brought on by temporary insanity.”

“Consider it done,” Balin agreed. “We'll do much better to continue introducing Sigrid and Tauriel to your subjects by degree, bringing them into more rituals and celebrations, as would be done if they were not outsiders. The people need to see that you trust them, that they are part of your inner circle. Also, I think that it would be best if we presented at least Fili's match as politically minded. I know it's a love match from start to finish, but by claiming that it is vital to our future relationship with Dale we may ease the way, at least a little bit.”

“I agree,” Thorin said, nodding. “Let's go with your idea.” 

 

* * *

 

Thorin dragged his feet all the way back to the royal apartments, exhausted, but not nearly exhausted enough. After his ludicrous suggestion to Balin, he'd been unable to drive Bilbo from his mind. Usually he managed with more work, more exercise, more anything to keep himself occupied. And he needed the distraction badly that night. 

Unfortunately, Dwalin had finally put his axe down, declaring that he didn’t care what was making Thorin crazy that night, he was going to bed. Thorin had glared at him, but to no avail. 

Dwalin was clearly a most ungrateful friend.

He showered quickly, getting ready for bed, then picked up some paperwork, settling into a chair beside the fire to read, a strategy that failed almost immediately. He tossed his reading aside and stalked around the room, restless, jittery, unable to focus his mind or his body. 

The thought kept coming to the fore, the thought of being with someone else, and even though it had been a pointless fancy dismissed within moments, it still felt like a betrayal to Bilbo. To his memory.

He needed to exorcise that thought. He'd been attempting to avoid thoughts of Bilbo for months, but at last he realised that he needed to give in. Give in to the grief, to the aching desire to hold Bilbo again, to kiss him and love him and focus instead on cherishing the time they'd had. 

He didn’t have Bilbo. But he did have memories. Painful ones, but sometimes, the pain was a therapy. 

He leaned onto the mantlepiece, setting his mind to the task. He prepared the room for bed and climbed in, getting settled, laying back on the bed, and finally, for the first time since Bilbo had gone, he let himself remember.

The memories came hard and fast, from the first night in Bag End, when every touch, every taste, every sound that he'd drawn from Bilbo's lips had been a revelation, to the last night, when he had poured all his love into every touch, lavishing Bilbo with all the devotion in his heart. The nights in between came to him as well, every new encounter, every discovery they had made along the road together, all combining in his mind, sparking his desire into heart wrenching fullness.

His cock rose, and he realised that it was the first time he'd had an erection all winter. He embraced it fully, pushing down his sleep trousers, letting his hand trace lightly over his cock before grasping it with a firm grip, stroking leisurely at first. 

He played back the most vibrant memories in his head and his strokes began to quicken, their first night in Rivendell, the way Bilbo had shouted his pleasure without restraint. The coming back together at Beorn's, the first time after Thorin had realised and accepted his love for Bilbo. The night in Laketown when Bilbo had taken him, a discovery that had been unexpected, made all the more brilliant in his memory. 

It didn't take long, with the visions his mind was producing, and he came hard, unexpectedly, his climax a release of desire and pent up longing, wrenching itself from his body with a pleasure that bordered on pain. The aftershocks rippled through him, leaving him shaken as the memories faded. 

As soon as the sensations had receded, he found himself crying, silently, the tears streaming down his face and neck, soaking into the pillow below him. He let them come, releasing the hurt and the grinding loneliness that had plagued him all winter, letting it flow over him in waves, cleansing him at last. He was left feeling hollow but somehow lighter, his heart empty but sated in his catharsis.

He would face the coming days renewed, still grieving, still lost, but somehow, more able to endure.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow...this was a long time in coming. Considering how big it is, I'm still surprised I'm done, what with committee meetings and a day at the beach and another day at first aid training. What a monster this part turned in to.
> 
> I think I can safely say I will have another 4 chapters. I've plotted out the rest, and it should fit in 4 more nicely. We'll see. :)
> 
> Embrace the angst, people!


End file.
